


Vision

by wreckofherheart



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, How Do I Tag, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:19:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has never witnessed a bride. [Steve/Natasha]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vision

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by avengeravenue on Tumblr: Oh! Oh my goodness! You're taking drabble prompts. Okay. Steve/Natasha, Natasha storms into his apartment wearing a wedding dress. No context. He has no idea what's going on.

The dress wields a sense of innocence and fragility.

He has never witnessed a bride.

Once, as a sweet soldier, naïve and wonderful, he had fantasies. Childish fantasies usually associated with young girls, but he was never, really, brutal at heart. Never really a soldier. Just young and foolish and bursting with love and potential.

Yet the privilege of  _love_  –– being embraced by its warm glow, touched and kissed –– is foreign to him.

The bride he imagined never had a face. Their audience never had a face.

Even the chapel was faceless.

Yet he always saw the dress. A sweep length. White, of course; strapless, her small shoulders soft. An elegant dress, petite, flowery patterns sewn into the silky material.

Certainly childish.

A little endearing.

If nothing more then a reflection of his gentle nature.

She doesn’t knock. Their friendship is passed the point of knowing and asking for permission to invade the other’s privacy. There’s simply nothing  _left_  to invade. They know everything there is to know about each other; all secrets and hushed burdens are masked outside their sphere of comfort. Stripped away once the doors are closed. Natasha doesn’t knock, and steps into the room, wearing the very same wedding dress he has imagined for countless decades.

It’s a joke. She wants him to feel mocked; she knows the content of his thoughts. That, one day, he may abandon his shield to raise his own child. That only a few vows will peel away the uniform which he has worn so often, it may as well be his  _skin_.

Like she expects ( _wants_ ), Steve smiles, and he chuckles.

There’s a boyish ripple in his eyes. A childhood he cannot shake from. She’s brought him back to his days in the war. The ripped, fading photographs of men’s wives, girlfriends, fiancées. A desperate grip onto what will never be.

For a moment, he thinks about Peggy, and a lump forms in his throat.

‘Where did you get that?’

‘I found it.’

He doesn’t pry any further. Natasha’s crooked smile is mischievous. She’s enjoying this. Just because she can, Natasha does a little twirl, and the hem of the dress flows at her ankles; like a flower. Like something he’s never seen before. He watches her, and his heart flutters. Her back is small, ankles fragile, and her shoulders petite, surprisingly so.

To think, how can such a powerful woman appear  _demure_?

Her auburn hair is smooth and he’s tempted to touch it; a waterfall down her back.

‘What d’you think?’

Steve struggles to return to his nonchalant state, but it’s too late.

Natasha sees the damage she’s caused and, for a second, she’s terrified she’s allowed too much to happen between them.

He can’t help himself.

He smiles.

She frowns at him.

‘I think you look beautiful.’

Her expression falters, but she’s quick to regain her composure. Her left hand trembles a little as she raises her skirt so she can walk. ‘Thank you.’

Steve stands, hands at his sides.

The groom. Silver tie, trousers, jacket, white, faceless shirt. A rose neatly settled in his breast pocket.

Smiling like he is now.

He comes forward. Natasha doesn’t cower. She lets him in.

‘You’re welcome,’ he replies, leans down only to kiss her cheek; leave a mark. An invitation.

Natasha returns his smile.

Finally, his bride has a face; and she’s a vision.


End file.
